


Doppelgängers

by PthaloGreen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PthaloGreen/pseuds/PthaloGreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(from Wikipedia) <i>Doppelgänger:</i> In fiction and folklore, a doppelgänger (German for look-alike, literally a "double goer") is a paranormal double of a living person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doppelgängers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended as an epilogue for Westermarck. Then intended as an epilogue for aao. At some point intended as a joint epilogue for both, always intended as an apology for being a mean writer.  
> The point is that I don't even know what I'm doing with Westermarck anymore and I have no idea when I'll have the time to finish aao given that updates are sporadic despite the fact that they're not even that lengthy so I have decided, given that its is this very special day for our fandom, to post it today.  
> This takes place in a non-sburb universe. There's some speculation that the kids couldn't exist without sburb having been ectobioligised and stuff and therefore Dave and Rose would never have not shared genes however fuck that noise.  
> If you want to think they're related in this and just don't know, fine. If you want to think they're not related at all, that's fine too. The same goes for whether or not you want to think this entire thing is some kind of dream.  
> As far as I'm concerned it's irrelevant. This is just a short thing that acts as an ode to Dave and Rose and all the times they've had to die together. Have a great 413 everyone!

In another world, Rose Lalonde sits eerily quiet in the windowseat with a mug of something horribly bitter clutched between her fingers, watching the rain as it falls. It is 2am and this is definitely not what would be considered a fun or conventional sleepover- normal sleepovers didn’t involve horrific thunderstorms and they should at least by definition consist of some amount of actual sleeping. She sips and observes, not flinching even when the window lights up with a white flash. This is what he  gets for agreeing (or rather, being persuaded by force) to go to her place instead of getting her to come to his: a lack of sleep and the beginning of every clichéd horror movie ever written. A gentle smile settles on her lips as the promised rumble of thunder follows the light. “Incredible,” She mumbles. “You really should come closer to the window; it’s something quite remarkable even by the usual standards.”

Dave Strider peers out from under the comforter on her bed, grunts twice, and proceeds to shuffle back under again, the words ‘go away’ just audible from under the mass of knitted quilts. Anyone would think she was subjecting him to a blizzard but then again he had expressed surprise at even the proposal that maybe he should wear more than just his boxers to bed. Rose turns her attention away from the window to watch a boy-sized lump writhe around under the covers and ducks as a tan arm whips out a pillow from beneath them and throws it at his best guess for her face. “ _Rude_.” Is the only remark she offers in response, turning her attention back to the window. In her peripheral vision she sees him slide out again, an 18-year-old tangled mass of awkward muscles and bones in places they shouldn’t be, unfathomably difficult but delightfully _hers_. Though she doesn’t watch with her eyes, she’s seen him enough times to infer from the shadows he makes on the walls the way his musculature flexes and tenses against delicate skin, mentally focusing on the freckles and the angles of shadow-shape that would be on the concave of his stomach cast by prominent hipbones were his shirt not there. “What’re you smilin’ at? I see you there, Cheshire cat. Got your grin on for no good reason unless -and this is just a hunch I’m getting - unless you’re actually _pleased_ that you managed to drag my ass out of bed just to look at some fuckin’ rain. You know we get weather in Texas too? It’s a thing most places get, so I’m told, this whole weather business.” His drawl is thick with sleep-slow and his movements lag slightly behind his intent as if he were footage pre-recorded and then slowed down for her own viewing pleasure. It occurs to her that he may as well be for the detail with which her brain has fondly saved this image from the times previous they have shared. With no answer for him to bounce back on, he settles on draping his arms around her shoulders from behind, letting his fingers roam her collarbones and cheeks before settling his hands atop her head and kissing the hair between them. “C’mon then. Show me your magic.”

She smiles against his touch and tilts her head up to look at him, wiggling her eyebrows. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She laughs as he swats her head and flashes her the beginnings of a smile she’s seen and loved more times than she can count as he moves to sit opposite her, drawing his knees to his chest. She pulls her own legs up to mirror him and brushes her toes against his. He shivers from the cold and she in turn sets her mug down and offers her hands to him.

His dark hands, skin rough from the sun and the long-buried bruises from years of swordfights gone wrong and weaponry in places in shouldn’t be, press their palms to her own white skin and their fingers begin the slow process of intertwining. She watches as he turns his attention to the windowpane and follows his line of vision to two droplets cascading down the glass on the other side and notices the way his shoulders tense momentarily under his shirt. Squeezing his hands, she frowns in concern. He shrugs in reply, leading her to squeeze them a little harder. A sigh follows his wince.

“S’nothing, just got a chill down my spine is all.”

“The storm?”

“Not… exactly.”

It’s bizarre to see him reserved. Whilst she’d love to put it down to concern, it’s most likely her insatiable morbid curiosity; Rose could never resist a mystery of the human mind. Perhaps that’s how he’s managed to stand the test of time so far.

“Dave?” She persists. “What is it.”

“S’just… Those droplets I suppose. You see the ones I mean?” He pulls a hand away from her to press a finger to the glass. “The way that one there is just slightly behind the other one, like he’s- like _it’s_ following the other one to the end of the pane. Made me think of us for a second there.”

Her frown intensifies as he looks up at her, eyes a little too wide for her liking. She cradles the hand that’s still hers between both her palms and strokes at it soothingly. “Whilst I’m flattered that you’d – or _it_ would - follow me to the end of the pane, that’s awfully morbid coming from you. You do think of the strangest things…”

He laughs shakily and rests his chin in his hand, turning his attention back to the droplets with a seemingly magnetised compulsion before squeezing her hand for reassurance. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Hey, that’s probably your fault though, keeping me up all night and you know I don’t just mean the stormwatching. Remind me never to agree to coming round when your Mom is on a business trip ever again.” She smirks. He misses it, still fixated on the glass. Neither of them say a word until the droplets finally reach the bottom, splashing into the windowsill and rolling out of sight. His arm jerks violently and she looks up to watch the terror spread across his features in spite of his efforts to contain it. “…Woah, shit. Definitely too tired for this, I’m like… _God.”_

Slowly, she shifts to her knees and leans forwards to cradle his face in her hands until his breathing is steady enough for him to look her in the eye. “Like seriously I don’t even know what’s wrong with me – it’s just rain but-“ Her lips push against his mid-sentence and he’s subdued, succumbing to the pressure of her skin against his. She pulls away when his hands find her lower back, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “…Thanks.” He breathes.

“If it’s any consolation to your sleep-deprived brain,” She begins, “It’s all a cycle, isn’t it? Those droplets splashed down together to their demise, yes, but think about it; water recycles itself. Those droplets will be re-absorbed into the atmosphere and who knows? Perhaps next time they will fall into a river instead of against a windowpane and the ripples their impacts create there could continue indefinitely, side by side, intertwined forever…”

He grimaces. “That is gayer than you and you’re at least half gay if your pre-me track record is anything to go by.”

“It would only be homoerotic in the _slightest_ if they were same-sex droplets and I’ll let you in on a little secret, Dave: I don’t think water has a gender at all.”

She watches the smile spread out on his mouth and strokes at his cheek with her thumb. “…Thanks, though. S’nice to know that the little droplet that did the following might get the girl in the next round of his little watery life at least.”

“Would you _stop_ personifying the water? Honestly, anyone would thing that _you_ were the poet here.”

“Rap is poetry if-“

“Rap is not poetry, Dave, it is _noise._ ”

His laughter is so close that the breath tickles her nose as he shuts his eyes. “That us, then? Side by side forever and shit?”

It’s her turn to laugh now, ever the realist. Though his voice is light and easy, there’s something in the earnest of his gaze, so intent that it seems almost seeking her approval, that troubles her to think that perhaps this conversation isn’t quite as much of a walk in the park for him as he’d like to suggest. “We’re 18, Dave,” She tries, gently. His smile falters, but only barely. She’s kind of proud of how often he’s resilient against comments like that and at the same time regretful that she has to be the one to make them.

“Yeah, and next year we’ll be 19, the year after that 20 etc. Time is kind of a fluid thing, Rose. That’s kind of the point. S’all fluid until someone hits the windowsill and evaporates…”

The window lights up again, flashing against his red eyes and revealing a kind of desperation in them that perhaps the shadow was hiding or perhaps she just wasn’t looking hard enough to find before.

“I’m not going to evaporate…” She whispers, stroking his hair.

“Not in this life, maybe.”

“What does that mean?”

He frowns. “I don’t know… I just… look, I’d follow you to a million shitty windowsill splash-endings if I had to, but I don’t _want_ to be a splash.” She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and the edge to his voice when it finally comes does something strange to her stomach. “I wanna be a ripple this time. I mean us. I want us to be ripples this time.”

This time. She’s not sure what he means by that but then again neither is he. They’ve learnt over time not to question it when their cloudy unconscious sometimes manages to merge regardless of the fact that when it does it rarely makes sense.

“Side by side forever.” She whispers. He nods.

“If that’s what you want.”

The rumble of the sky comes slower than before as the storm begins the process of moving slowly away. Neither of them acknowledge it, too involved it searching each other desperately for some kind of insincerity, some trace of a sign that one of them is going to start laughing in a minute and the whole moment will be broken, just another half-snarked joke in the face of something serious.

Neither can find it, but not for want of trying: it is simply not there this time.

Dave Strider, in all his pathetic lanky glory sits in a windowseat opposite Rose Lalonde as they observe a storm that will never have a greater consequence than a flood. This is not the end of the world, it is not a noble death - it’s only a conversation. It is, though, probably the most serious conversation they have had to date, so all things being in perspective it’s a pretty big deal.

He moves his hands to take hers and she clutches to them with an enthusiasm he’s never seen before and will probably never see again until the day his brother walks her down the aisle to him.

“Okay,” She nods, finally. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Side by side forever.” She confirms, cringing at how cheesy it is but managing not to ruin the moment by berating him for it.

The window illuminates for a final time and though there are bags beneath his crimson eyes, she sees the skin soften there for a moment in something like reassurance. She can’t say she fully understands but then again neither can he - for now, though, it’s enough. As he stifles a yawn at the final thunderclap she slides off the seat neatly and pulls at his hand for him to follow – a wish he’s only too eager to comply with. Her sleepy boy trudges back to her bed and crawls beneath the covers as she shuts the curtains on the remainder of the storm and follows him, delighting in his yelp as she presses her cold hands beneath the fabric of his shirt against his back and squealing at his freezing bare foot against her calf. He snickers and she smirks and somewhere in between they fall asleep, neither noticing that the rain outside has finally subsided.

**Author's Note:**

> And in this life, it has subsided for the final time.
> 
> :)  
> Thank you so much to anyone and everyone who has supported me in any way; you're all sweethearts.


End file.
